I’m standing barefoot in a park.
Green grass padding the soles of my feet while lightly tickling the crevices of my toes.
My face is towards the sun. Eyes closed.
My breath is as steady as a quiet, clear stream.
My mind isn’t still. It’s like a dandelion losing its fluffy pappi in a violent wind.
Every thought violently floating where it shouldn’t be.
Until the wind stops, I’ll stay here grounded.
Rooted.
I want to be like that tree which grows on a rock and hugs it so tight with its roots, trunk and bark until there’s no separating them.
Because today is beautiful.
My thoughts not so much.
So like sea weed, I’ll anchor myself in the depths of the bitter, sublime waters.
Silent.
In this very moment, I’m kindness.
Not to anyone else but myself.
I’m groping into my soul for a kinder way to utter
my own name.
I shall speak it in a way that unfurls petals of self tenderness.
I shall learn to glide on every syllable like a lone feather… falling off a pelican’s wing in swooping flight.
Float.
I’m the warm hymnal voice of an African nanny.
Singing songs that soothe in a language that babies do not yet know how to speak.
Cradling notes that flow slowly into the little baby within, still finding words for feelings that haven’t been invented yet.
Weaving hammocks to rest tired thoughts that have been blown every which way and found no home.
So I pull them all back like kites on a string to find rest for a while.
Rest.
Frank Malaba © 2019
